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by marzipan (orphan_account)



Series: memory lane [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWPish, certainly no plot, tagging for topmycroft only cuz i kno some of you don't like that lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marzipan
Summary: snippets from the same 'verse
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Series: memory lane [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537564
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	home

Irene glances over, looking Jim up and down.

“You look well rested,” she says, in an almost accusing tone. Jim gives her a flat smile.

Jim most certainly can’t say the same for her. For one, she’s  _ blonde, _ and not the posh kind; it’s a terrible shade that clashes with her complexion, making her look even more haggard than her makeup tried to hide. And it’s no wonder - she’s on the run and low on funds - exactly the reason for this meeting in the first place.

If she was  _ well, _ she would have never called on him.

Especially since she doesn’t know he’s the one who betrayed her in the first place.

“Iceman fucking you into the cell walls then?” she asks wryly, taking a drink. He’s not surprised she heard about his arrest - this scenario was exactly one of the reasons they let the rumor spread. She snorts and continues. “He does seem like a sadistic bastard - I’d love to have him on his knees.

_ That _ honor is all mine, Jim thinks but doesn’t say aloud. Sadistic...he could be. But if he had to pick a word, he’d just as well pick - sweet.

“Mm,” Jim says noncommittally, stirring his untouching lemonade with the straw. “Maybe ‘ve had enough of pain though, to last me a lifetime.”

Irene gives him a lightly amused, disbelieving look. He doesn’t  _ blame _ her, given their...history. 

True, he still craves it from time to time. But - he’s never had  _ sweet _ before. He quite likes it.

.

They’re barely  _ one _ room into the tour before Jim finds himself lowered to the floor - he catches on quickly, and is very pleased with the plush carpet his lover - his  _ husband _ now, even if no one else will ever know but the two of them - picked out. 

He kisses Mycroft hard, tugging the man down in all manners to better reach him, but Mycroft seems intent on slowing him down. An odd miscommunication: Jim just wants to rut against him, and then maybe make out and see the rest of the house he has only so far seen in blueprints and sketches. 

Mycroft takes his sweet time. 

Jim begs; he’s no stranger to begging, but Mycroft only shushes him with the gentlest of kisses, before withdrawing even his lips.

Mycroft gives him his fingers instead, not out of any courtesy, but because he likes to make Jim  _ wait. _ Jim lavs at them with his tongue, desperate.

It feels like  _ days _ have gone by before Mycroft even pushes down his pants, bringing him out to stroke him. It’s only then that he finally leans in, whispering between kisses, and pressing so, so close. 

It’s that  _ closeness  _ that Jim really remembers. 

_ Jim. _

He shudders, a full body shiver and he wonders if it’s possible to climax from the sheer intimacy of it. It’s the tone of it, as if nothing could make Mycroft happier than Jim himself. He feels like he could die happy. It’s a ludicrous thought.

The late afternoon sunlight just barely skims Mycroft’s hair; the two of them lie for what must have been hours, tangled together in their half removed clothes. It’s perfectly luxurious, how much time they have to themselves like this. Jim doesn’t want to let him go. It’s blissful. He wonders why this is the nicest afterglow he’s ever experienced. What was it that changed? It doesn’t matter. He just wants to hold Mycroft close.

.

The tour is slow going because several days later they finally make it to the east wing, and Jim discovers that Mycroft has made a second home office for himself that looks suspiciously like the office he first met Mycroft in - before Mycroft had moved to the lower floors and had the place renovated.

Jim swallows.

“I’m guessing that’s not a coincidence,” Jim quips.

“Have you ever known me to be so sloppy?” Mycroft replies. 

He’d beckoned Jim over with a cat-like smile growing across his expression and soon Jim was bent over the hard oak desk as Mycroft fucked into him from behind. 

Jim shudders, and Mycroft strokes the back of his neck before moving his hand lower to lift Jim’s chin. 

It wasn’t only the furniture; the placement, the composition of the room - was all quite deliberate.

Directly across the desk was the door - which Mycroft had left just slightly ajar. 

The same door, in fact, that Mycroft’s office once had. 

Where Jim had joked about giving him a hand job, just leaning over and reaching down Mycroft’s trousers, while the door was unlocked and anyone on the busy floor could walk in.

Mycroft hadn’t looked interested then, but looks certainly deceive; he was playing out their fantasy now, and Jim is a happy beneficiary of Mycroft’s infallible memory. 

His breath catches, trying to keep down a moan. It’s a heady feeling - the illusion that they could get walked in on, in such a compromising position, and that he had instigated it himself. 

Mycroft snaps his hips, thrusting in a way that catches Jim off guard. Lube trickles down the back of his thigh. 

“Go ahead, make as much noise as you want.” Oh, that  _ voice. _ He’d never use such a blithe tone at home, oh, it was far from sweet, and Jim nearly squirms in  _ delight. _

Mycroft shoves his fingers in Jim’s mouth startling sound out of him and muffling it just the same.

“The sound of me  _ fucking you _ is loud enough even if you did keep your mouth shut,” Mycroft muses. He’s right. Jim squeezes his eyes shut. “The hallway at least must be echoing with this wet - sloppy sound, so loose you are. Go ahead, and let them know you’re here. It’ll save me the trouble of calling the guards over to have their turn with you, when I’m done.”

The solid desk, the solid fucking is a number on him - his hips are bruised and none of it is sweet, but goodness he  _ needs _ this. The biting, teeth breaking skin, fingers digging into soft flesh, tugging back his hair - truth be told, it’s tame, for what Jim is able to take. No, this, they both know, this for Jim, it’s - maintenance. 

Jim does scream, when he finally comes, and then in the soft minded aftermath he sees that Mycroft has already prepared cleaning wipes, and he has to laugh (a drunken giggle, more like) at how well planned this all has been).

He snuggles against Mycroft, after.

“Did you think anything would ever happen between us, when we first met?” Jim asks. 

Mycroft tucks his face in the crook of Jim’s neck, for a few moments, before answering.

“No,” he says, thought he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“But you hoped?” Jim guesses.

“Mm.” He kisses Jim in the hollow of his neck before looking back up at him. “I did.”

  
  



End file.
